


Rush Hour

by InnerSpectrum



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, London Underground, Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:27:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29941020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerSpectrum/pseuds/InnerSpectrum
Summary: John is on the Tube. All he wants to do is get home. That's not going to happen anytime soon....
Comments: 9
Kudos: 22





	Rush Hour

As if rush hours on the Tube are not bad enough, John realized too late that he left his mp3 player on his desk. Naturally, because he was running late and did not want to miss the train, he did not get to pick up the paper, and was now sardined against the doors. Because of the crush of bodies, he knew any chance of feeling air conditioning was close to nil at this point and just prayed he would not be an offensive, half soggy mess when he finally disembarked at Baker Street.

To one side of him was an older woman with enough Aquanet in her hair, that if they had wanted to hive there, he seriously doubted bees could have penetrated the hirsute turban.

And on the other side of him was a man who must have poured every ounce of cologne in existence in a tub and immersed his entire body in it. It was all he could do to keep his head turned away to not set off the rapid series of sneezes that wanted to break free from it.

He pinched the bridge of his nose while trying hard to keep his eyes from watering from both toxic scents as he stared down into the long expansive blackness of the tunnel before the next stop. The immense dark was very fitting to his mood.

He looked for any distraction to try to pull his mind out of its funk, when John noticed a gorgeous woman in shades in the window’s reflection. He could just barely make out the shape of her eyes behind the dark lenses but couldn’t really see them. She made up for it by having beautiful lush lips, emphasized with whatever gloss she was wearing. They looked as though she drank water not even seconds ago and he all but expected an errant liquid drop to fall. He couldn’t tell if his sudden thirst was for this unseen water implied or for the lips themselves providing that implication that made him mentally smile at the thought of Sherlock’s lips upon his when he made it home. He tried to imagine what his gorgeous flatmate would deduce about her. She’s seemingly staring straight ahead, but he can’t tell if she’s really staring ahead or doing the visual non-dance, all commuters without personal diversions, like books or music, do of looking at anything but seeing nothing. It’s a lovely couple of minutes of _I’m looking at you, but I’m not looking at you_ that whiled away the time between stops.

As the train is pulling into the station, she slowly lifted her shades and stared out quizzically. It was her, at first _what the…?_ that rapidly morphed to an _OH MY GOD_ , expression, along with a few others beside her, that finally made John stop looking at her reflection in the glass and look through the window itself. Her confusion then shock is rapidly matched by the commuters on the platform waiting to board as the train started to slow. Mesmerized by their expressions, his mind had not fully registered the crimson streaks that snaked down the window. When the train jerked to its stop, a bloody body suddenly slid from the curved roof of the car. It got caught on only God knew what and now dangled hideously in front of John just as the doors opened. It set off screams inside and out of the train, but John is struck dumb by the sight.

Some part of him registered that passengers were exiting the train en masse from other doors, and someone was likely already in the process of notifying the motorman and 999, neither of which was his concern just then. The front of the skull slowly turned towards him and with a slow sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach, that had nothing to door with the bloody horror that dangled before him, he realized he recognized what was left of the face attached to it.

**Author's Note:**

> I have NO idea where this came from. No it is NOT the start of another WIP. Muse dropped this damned bunny as is and I give it to you thus. That is all.


End file.
